


In the mountains

by imsfire



Series: Fragments from the multiverse [4]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Feels, Cassian is briefly referenced, Gen, Regrets, Two old women gearing themselves up to fight again, battle grannies, old friends meeting again, thinking about the past, wanting to get away from everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 07:11:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15903414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imsfire/pseuds/imsfire
Summary: One old woman goes looking for another, away up in the mountains of an isolated world, where people go who don't want to be found.





	In the mountains

**Author's Note:**

> I say "battle grannies" although I don't know if either of them is a granny! But I'd love to see something like this happen in episode 9.

There’s still snow on the ground at this altitude, and the grey cloud cover seems to come steadily closer to her as she climbs.  Steadily, and faster than it properly should.  It’s almost as if it’s creeping downslope towards her.  Pretty soon she’ll be enveloped in it.  Already the damp in the air is snaking inside her jacket, pinching at her old throat.

Well, so serve her right for volunteering.  All very well to acknowledge the twitch of guilt that comes when she looks at them, that tiny remnant of the Resistance, a few dozen beings with fear and hope in their eyes, without letting herself get sucked into joining them.  She could just have commiserated and offered a few quiet supply routes.  Instead of putting on her stoutest boots and actually marching out.  Time was, when she was a settled businesswoman, she’d have had more common sense.

Time was, she could have paid someone young and fit to do this job.  Why the hells the old fighter had to choose a place like this for a hideaway…

_Maybe it’s something to do with the Force.  Force-damned Force, eh?  Maybe being able to feel all that sun-bright energy all the time leaves a body craving cold air and solitude and damp places._

_After all, you don’t feel half of what these high-count Jedi-types do, and you went for a wet green world when you had the chance to choose a home._

_Damn, I miss that place._

_No, pick up your feet, keep climbing and stop griping; keep moving forward, it’s the only way you’ll ever get anywhere._

Maz pulls the compass-tracker out of her pocket and checks the coordinates again; at least another hour to go.  She’s reached the snow-line.  Old, crusted, grey and dirty, the remnants of ancient winters layered in every gully, grimly hanging on.  Heh, she can do the grim hanging on thing too, kark it.  She tugs on the strap of her back-pack, hitching it more firmly into place; puts her head down as the mist closes in, and tramps on, deeper into the mountains. 

When at length the path leads to the foot of a wall of rock, she checks once more, and turns west, walking along at the foot of the cliff, her boots crunching now in sprinklings of gravel, the remains of rock-falls that smear the snow crust.  The local stone is tawny, almost pink when freshly-broken, and in the dim wintry light it looks incongruously bright, touches of colour vivid as bloodstains in this landscape of grey and grey-white, lichen and cloud and snow.

A swig of water from her canteen, a quick mouthful of energy bites; a pause to huff for breath and think again _I’m an old woman, I should have known better than to get caught up in this_ ; and then remind herself _Less than a year ago you were fighting a small army of strike-breakers in an open street battle, you’re only as old as you say you are, so pull yourself together and say it_ :

“There’d be something wrong with me if I couldn’t still climb a mountain at my age!”

Her voice echoes against the rock and drifts on the scouring wind, and she grins at herself and readjusts her goggles.  Then puts her head down again and trudges on, before keeping tiredness at bay begins to seem like an effort instead of a joke. 

The path may be snowy and uneven, but at least it’s more-or-less level now.  It makes for a change after that knee-punishing ascent.

_When did I get so old?_

_Eh, stop that, a thousand and eighteen isn’t that old, truly.  Grandma was still up and active when she was a couple of centuries older than me.  Can’t afford to be off my game, there’s a rebellion to fight!_

She skirts round a series of banked-up snowdrifts and picks her way back to the path, hugging the foot of the rock-face.  And suddenly it’s there, looming out of the mist.  A single pinnacle standing free of the cliff, like an upraised finger jeering at the sky; and in its lee, a cave.  Darkness in the opening, a small tight mouth, and boot-prints forming a trampled path in the snow and scree, leading inside.

Maz heaves a sigh of satisfaction.  Those marks look fresh; her information was good, then.  She stamps her feet hard against the nearest patch of bare surface rock, to clear some of the snow from her own boots and to give the occupant of the cave a warning; then tramps up to the cave mouth and clears her throat.  Calls “Anyone home?” in her most cheerfully assertive, remember-I’m –the-owner-and-you-owe-me-credits voice. “Anybody?”

Under her breath she adds “Don’t let me down, you snippy old soldier, I know you’re in there.”

Movement, in the dark; so slight and silent that even her eyes wouldn’t have caught it without magnification.  She reaches to crank up the zoom on her goggles.

“You?” says a tired voice from the cavern. “Really?”

“Me,” says Maz. “Yes.  Me and you.  Why are you so surprised?”

She stares the darkness down, until there’s another stirring of movement within, and slowly a figure emerges.  Tall, lean, carrying a long-staff; and there’s a sudden hum, and the unmistakable gleam of a lightsaber in the other hand.  She’s wearing light armour and  boots, and a tunic that leaves her thin arms and half of each leg bare to the cold and damp ( _oh you mad old coot of a Togruta, really?_ ).  Her deep orange skin is corded with muscle and patterned with scars, and her face is quiet, assessing the unexpected guest without a flicker of expression.

“Well, look at you,” Maz says. “Aren’t you chilly?  I’m certainly chilly.  And since I’ve come all this way to find you, I’m sure you’ll invite me inside to warm up.  You’re probably even going to make me a hot cup of kaf.  Or lichen tea, or whatever you’re drinking these days.”

The tall figure pauses for a moment; deactivates the lightsaber, lowers the staff.  “I probably am,” she says, and for a moment there’s the ghost of a smile in her deep blue eyes. “How did you find me, you crazy old pirate?”

“Old yourself.  I found you because I looked.  Remember how that works, looking?  Yes, I thought you did, you’ve done enough of it yourself, heh...” Maz hoiks on the straps of her backpack and stomps forward into the cave-mouth. “Calling me crazy, and you living here?”

“It’s peaceful up here,” says Ahsoka, with a look that challenges any response. “No disturbances.” 

“Halfway up the spine of nowhere, hmm?  I wonder why?  Now what about that tea, old friend?”

There’s a silence at her back for near on a minute while she heads down the winding passage between narrowing walls of rock.  Then a sudden irascible sigh, right behind her, and the tart answer “Oh, very well then.  Tea.  For old times’ sakes.” Maz grins in triumph, only to sigh herself as next moment Ahsoka goes on “But if you’ve come all this way to ask me to come back, I warn you now, I’ve done my share and more in these Force-damned wars and I’m through.  No more.”

“And that’s final, no doubt?” Maz turns and peers up into the strong blue eyes; puts her head on one side for a moment. “Why, I believe you actually do believe it, too.” She reaches out and pats the muscle-hard arm above her. “Come now, let’s not be at odds, heh?  I’ve come to give you news.”

At the end of the passage is a wider cavern; by the light on the end of Ahsoka’s staff she can see there’s a simple bed against one side, a water-jar propped on the back wall and a fire-pit in the middle of the space.  A few pots and plates are stacked by the hearth-stones, and a single battered leather-bound book lies on a shelf cut out of the rock wall above the bed.  No other furnishing at all.  Even for a hermit, it’s painfully spartan.

“Where should I sit?”

“On the ground, as I do.” Her host is filling one of the stone pots from the water jar; she sets it down in a slab beside the fireplace and crouches to blow on the embers there. Looks up to add “On the bed, if your old joints can’t handle that.”

“Hah.” Maz folds herself down into a lotus position and stares back.

“Hah indeed.  So what’s this news of yours, then?” Ahsoka looks away, busying herself with opening a jar of herbs and setting out two rough pottery tea bowls.

“Don’t you know?” No response. “Please don’t tell me you’ve gone and _cut yourself off from the Force_ too, old friend.  What has gotten into all you remnant Jedi these days?  There’s far too much despair in the galaxy as it is, without you adding to it.” Maz unfastens the buckles on her pack, lets it slide to the cave floor.  It’s a relief to be rid of the weight, and she hopes she won’t have to pick it up again and leave too quickly. “I hope I don’t need to spell everything out to you.”   

“Maybe I want you to,” Ahsoka says slowly. “Maybe I want to hear what you’ve got to say for yourself.  Why you think my retirement is worth less than whatever special cause you’ve come to plead.”

She sounds angry; but surely there’s more to it than mere temper.  After everything she’s achieved, it’s hard to credit she’d just turn her back now without reason. “Please, look at me, Ahsoka.”

“So you can peer into my soul, huh?” The thin old shoulders are straight, her head goes up and her lekku twitch as though she’s restraining herself from adding some further retort; but then instead she sighs again and shuffles round, still on her knees, and says once more “Oh, very well.”

Her eyes tell everything her words are angrily, painfully hiding; time and years, loss and hope.  It’s been a long, long time and she’s a tired old soul.  But though half of her heart is shut, the other half still bleeds for everything that is gone. “Ahsoka.  I’m sorry you feel I’ve come all this way just to harass you.  I’m sorry your life has left you just wanting to retire and get away from it all.  I’ve had those thoughts myself sometimes of late, I can tell you.  But I think you know as well as I do that the free beings of the galaxy need us.  They need you, and anyone else you can bring with you.  They need you very much right now.” Maz leans forward, holds out both hands.  She can’t allow herself not to hope. “Ahsoka, her name is Rey.”

Ahsoka looks down for a moment. “I’m tired.  I’ve had enough.  I wanted it to _stop_.”

“So did the last of the Skywalkers, but they fought on, in the end.  To the end.” Please, please, old friend, hear what I’m trying to say to you… “Your old Master’s bloodline is dead now; its only inheritor has turned to the dark side.  He’s gone too far to save.  You know this, you’ve felt it, I can see in your eyes that you have.”

A slow nod; and the blue eyes shut, rejecting the pain for a moment. “Yes.  I have.  I – Maz, I can’t.  I’ve tried so hard, so many years, I’ve searched so long, given so much – so many people have - millions, billions – given their lives, their worlds - what use can my one pair of old hands be now?  I just wanted to stop and rest and find some kind of peace.  Can’t you leave me that much at least?”

“You know it will never be like that.  You saw how the dark claimed Anakin Skywalker.  You know how it happened.”

“And I want _neve_ r to have to see that again!”

“Then come back with me!” Maz thumps the cold ground emphatically. “Come back, and help those who can still turn the tide!  ‘Soka, ‘Soka, they are so few, and so young.  And I know you remember how it is to be young and alone.  Don’t pretend to me that you do not.  They need help that only someone like you can give.  Ghosts can’t do it.  Books can’t do it. They need you – and –“

“And?”

“You know what I mean.  Did you ever find him?”

The pot of water by the fire is beginning to murmur, the surface shivering with rising heat.  Ahsoka raises her head, fixes her with a fierce gaze. “He isn’t easy to reach.”

“Hells, nor are you!  But I still came.  I still hoped.  Just like you hoped, when you and your friend set off thirty years ago.  We both know the worth of hope, and how much can be built on it.”

“Ah, I knew a man once…” Ahsoka’s face is suddenly sad. “He was the third Fulcrum, the one after Aleks Kallus.  I recruited him.  He used to say that…“

“Rebellions are built on hope.  I know.  I knew him too.  Old friend, for old friends’ sake, please, listen to your heart.  You know your peace here will never last, if the dark side conquers all resistance.  And you know what it is to be young, and unsupported, and trying to do right when no-one believes in you.”

“And you, do you believe in these youngsters?  Do you believe there’s still a chance to rebuild anything?  That there’s really still hope?”

“Why else would I be here?  But I can’t give them what they need.  I can’t teach them.  I’ve never had your skills.  I was never more than a sniffer at the edge of things.  You were one of the best.”

In the hush, Maz hears the water bubbling; and outside, the wind rising, and the susurrus of new snow falling.  She huffs out a rueful breath.  Perhaps it was all a waste of time after all.  At least the climb gave her a workout. “If you’re not going to come, tell me now, or you’ll be stuck with me as a house-guest for the next week.  Or cave-guest, I should say.  I don’t think I’ll have time for that tea, even.”

Ahsoka Tano looks long and slow at her; and long and slow, and sadly, and almost savage, she smiles. “You’ve got time.  My ship’s in the next chamber.  I’ll get you home.” And then “So tell me more.  Rey, did you say her name was?”

“Rey.  Yes.  And there are others.”


End file.
